It starts out innocently enough. Tess Lang needs her photographs taken for some magazines and her manager, James, knows just the right guy to do it.
Photographer Nick Jones sees more than she is willing to show, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Nick is so attractive that it makes her want to lick his face, so when he starts wrapping chains around her, she doesn't even question him.
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
"Would you just drop it!" I asked sharply. "I said it doesn't matter!"
"No," he said and he was suddenly in front of me, large and imposing, so tall he blocked out the light from the ceiling as he stared down at me.
"James," I whispered, a little frightened, more than a little turned on. I pressed my hand against his chest and tried not to rub my hands all over him. Where did he find time to work out? I thought he spent all his time being my manager. I didn't like the sudden embarrassment that washed over me. It made me feel like I didn't have any control at all. "James, you're standing too close," I said, giving him a half-hearted push.
"Yes," he said. "I am." He made a point of standing even closer and there was suddenly barely enough space between us to move without touching.
Suddenly, I remembered he had pulled me out from the studio before I could change back into my dress and I was still wearing the oversized white t-shirt that did little to hide my body. I felt naked under his gaze.
His hand grasped my waist and slid up my hips, moving just below the shirt so I could feel his palm on my skin. My heart, threatened by his proximity and the implications of his position, was beating a thousand miles a minute inside my ribcage.
"He's right, you know?" he whispered close to my ear. "You're beautiful," he said, his other hand playing at the base of my neck, the collar of the shirt loss enough that he could dip his hand down and feel my heartbeat. He kept his fingers just at the base of my neck. Our eyes locked and I had no idea what to say.
I froze, my hands still pressed against his chest, my heart in my throat, beating wildly where his palm was.
His hand glided around my neck and curled in my hair, gripping the soft hairs at the nape of my neck and claiming them with a harsh tug. I gasped at the motion and my head jerked back.
"You've always been so beautiful," he said.
The raspy sound of my breath cut through the silent room. I was beyond the point of no return, lost in the warmth of his body, the harsh tug of his hand on my scalp.
His other hand moved from my hip back up to my waist, gliding beneath the shirt to feel my bare skin with his burning touch. I inhaled sharply when I felt his palm just beneath my breast. His gaze was still on me, questioning, waiting for me to say something. I stared back, too afraid to say anything, less he stopped. My hands on his chest was no longer pushing him off. Instead, I was holding onto his suit in tight fists, daring him to continue.
"You're trembling," he said.
"Yes," I murmured, arching into his touch in silent encouragement.